


Manor House No.7

by peachpety



Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bed & Breakfast, Autumn Drarry Drabbles, Fall Foliage, Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpety/pseuds/peachpety
Summary: Draco is content running a B&B, until Harry walks back into his life.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956262
Comments: 12
Kudos: 107





	Manor House No.7

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12 of Autumn Drarry, y'all! The anonymous prompt is "I run a bed and breakfast and you showed up for your reservation alone. Do you understand what the purpose of a B&B is?" I have big plans for this one, anon, so a big big thanks is in order! I hope you like it! And toluene, bless for everything. Enjoy! xo peach

Draco taps his pen against the register, and watches the bellman escort an elderly couple down the corridor to the main-floor suite. The bed-and-breakfast is at full occupancy, as expected this time of year. Nestled in the foothills amongst canyon maples, quaking aspen, and Douglas hawthorns, Manor House No.7 was ideally situated to witness the fall foliage.

Not to mention, Manor House has cultivated quite an impeccable reputation as “one of the most upscale B&Bs in the United States, with charm in spades and magical service,” if _B &B Monthly _ is to be believed.

And, of course, it is.

Draco checks the computer again and frowns at the unchecked box next to the last reservation yet to arrive. The name elicits an odd buzz of familiarity that Draco can’t quite place.

A young couple clearly on their honeymoon come down the stairs, all pretty blushes and shy smiles. Draco would have given them the honeymoon suite, but the room had been booked for months, although if the last reservation didn’t arrive soon he would gladly relinquish it to the young lovers. As it was, he had enlarged their bathroom and tub as recompense. The women stop at the desk and ask for extra towels.

Draco nods curtly. “Indeed. I’ll have those delivered immediately.” He taps his pen against the counter, three raps in quick succession. 

The young woman clutches her wife’s arm and inhales with a gleeful shudder. “Ah, this place is so _magical_ , can’t you just _feel_ it! And so much bigger inside than it seems from the outside.”

Merlin bless oblivious Muggles.

Draco sends them off with an enchanted map of the property and a suggestion that the afternoon light hits the trees perfectly from the private gazebo at the end of an otherwise hidden trail.

The women exit through the front door held open by a dark-haired man in a tuxedo, presumably the last reservation. The man turns, and Draco stops breathing. 

Harry Potter looks as shocked as Draco feels, but Draco knows he does a better job of masking his surprise. Potter always was one to wear his heart on his sleeve. And he has some nerve showing up with his sexy 5 o’clock shadow looking as fit as ever, more devastatingly so in a bloody tuxedo, all soft and rumpled as if he just rolled out of someone’s bed. 

And Draco should know.

Draco sighs internally and lifts his chin. “Roonil Wazlib, I presume?”

Harry stares. “Er.”

“I see the years have made you as eloquent as ever.” Draco purses his lips and peers down his nose, heart pounding as fast as his fingers over the computer keyboard. “You’ve reserved the honeymoon suite. That explains the tuxedo.”

Potter has the good graces to blush, although it makes him even more fucking fetching, the gorgeous bastard. He runs his hands through his mess of curls. “Sorry, I’m just… surprised to see you here. And on a computer.”

“A necessity to run a perfectly respectable establishment.”

Harry smiles crookedly and fuck if it still doesn’t make Draco’s palms tingle. “I don’t doubt it,” Harry says. “Manor House No.7 comes highly recommended.” He slides a sealed parchment across the counter. “I was asked to deliver this to the proprietor.” 

Draco recognizes the curling script and grits his teeth. _Bloody Parkinson_. Although, Draco supposes, the hag was a Longbottom now. He’ll be sure to send her a howler as thanks.

“An old friend of the family, she said.” Harry chuckles and shakes his head before sobering. “She missed you at the wedding,” he adds, amending with a tender “ _we_ missed you.” 

“Yes, well, it’s our busy season.” Draco pecks the keyboards savagely. “And where is Mrs Potter?”

“I’m alone.”

Draco pauses, eyes darting up. “You’ve booked the full honeymoon package.” Harry nods. “You do understand the purpose of a B&B, Potter, yes?”

“Yes, Malfoy, I’m not daft.”

Draco frowns.

Harry bites his lip and leans closer, green eyes sparking. “I like the space of a suite,” he says, voice lowering, “to spread out on a bed of red rose petals with a glass of champagne.”

An unbidden image of Harry spread open on the bed before him, writhing with pleasure, pops into Draco’s mind. Heat explodes up his spine and warms his cheeks. 

“Here’s your key, Mr Wazlib,” he says, punctuating the last letter. “Let me show you to your room.”

* * *

Draco sweeps open the door. Harry inspects the room, eyes darting from the champagne chilling in a bucket to the bed strewn with rose petals to the vase of roses. 

“All perfect, except roses aren’t really my thing.”

Draco waves his pen. The roses transfigure into lilies. 

Harry’s smirk goes lopsided. “You remembered.” He summons the champagne bottle and pops the cork effortlessly. The casual nonverbal display of wandless power sends a familiar jolt to Draco’s central nervous system, a tingle through his veins he hasn’t felt in years. Never, if he’s truly honest.

Until he met this man. 

Harry summons two heart-shaped flutes. “Care to join me?”

“I’ve a hotel to run, Mr Wazlib.”

As Draco moves past him for the door, Harry grabs his hand. His magic, warm and familiar, surrounds him, blending with his own at a frequency that vibrates his heart. Harry’s thumb finds immediately and caresses that spot of delicate skin on Draco’s wrist with a direct line to his groin, melting muscles with ease. 

“It’s good to see you, Draco,” Harry says softly.

Draco holds his gaze, absorbing the sunshine smell of him, like happiness and contentment. The terrifying pull in his gut takes hold, opposing magnetic poles attracting, urging him to reach out and capture him, to click perfectly into place. 

The moment expands, a pause at the end of an exhale, lungs empty and still.

It was the little sigh that did it. The small whine pushed through Harry’s throat, a minor constriction of vocal cords that set Draco in motion. 

He gathers Harry in his arms and crowds him against the wall. His knee slides smoothly between Harry’s legs and he presses his body into him, his weight solid and perfect. Draco feels Harry hard against his hip, and he nuzzles his face into the warm soft skin of Harry’s neck. Harry claws his fingers into Draco’s hair and scratches at the back of his head. Chills cascade over Draco’s skin, and he bites gently on Harry’s clavicle. 

“ _Fuck_ , Draco.” Harry growls Draco’s name like a prayer whispered.

The bell at the front desk rings, high and shrill, calling Draco back to his senses.

He grabs Harry’s wrists, guides his arms overhead and with a firm press, pushes away from him. Harry looks at him, eyes hooded, chest heaving. Fucking hell, he looks wrecked. Draco wants to _devour_ him. 

The bell rings again, and Draco exits the room swiftly.

He doesn’t take a breath until he steps off the bottom stair.

* * *

Draco lolls his head against the back of the Adirondack chair, hoping the bite of the wood will drive out intrusive thoughts of a certain scruffy, quick-to-grin git. The whiskey at his elbow helps. 

The soft buffalo plaid shirt Harry wears does not.

Draco watches him from the porch, laughing and carrying on across the lawn with the newlyweds, as carefree and at ease as if he belonged here, as if Draco hadn’t attacked him yesterday. A flurry of leaves blows across the yard and Draco’s attention is tugged along with them, all the what-ifs and has-beens that plagued him into the small hours as he lay in bed not sleeping last night swirling around his brain. 

Harry’s laughter carries, and Draco feels it in his bones. _Fuck._ He squeezes his eyes shut and flails about, shaking his arms and legs. _Fuck fuck fuck_ —

“Care to share those thoughts you’re trying to shake loose?” Harry asks from his lean against the porch column.

Draco jolts and runs a hand through his hair, regaining composure. “There was a bug. A big one.”

Harry’s lips twitch, and he moves to sit in the chair next to Draco. “This place you’ve got here, Malfoy, it’s brilliant.” 

Draco sniffs. “Thank you, I know.” 

Harry plucks Draco’s glass off the arm of the chair and takes a satisfied sip, as if 3 empty years haven’t passed since Draco stole away in the middle of the night following a fall day exactly like this one. 

Harry swirls the glass, watching the amber liquid chase its own tail. “You’re upset,” he announces. “I can tell because you get this little crease right here,” he points between his eyebrows, “above your nose.” He grins. “It’s cute.” 

“Why did you come here?” Draco blurts.

Harry’s smile fades. “I had to get away. This time of year?” He shakes his head and settles back with a sigh. “I used to love the fall. The beauty of the leaves, the crispness in the air… you.”

Draco’s heart plummets to hover near his belly button. “I feel the same,” he says. “And I wish I didn’t.” It’s a fervent wish of his, one he reserves for every first evening star he glimpses — a do-over, an opportunity to make a different choice.

“I wish you didn’t, either,” Harry says, voice gruff with hidden meaning, jaw muscle jumping as he stares out at the riot of reds, oranges, yellows and purples.

“I think maybe it’s too late.” Draco presses his lips together and reaches for the whiskey glass. Their fingers brush, and Harry takes hold, seeking out that soft patch of skin on Draco’s wrist. 

“I think,” his green eyes gleam hopeful and earnest, “that fall has just begun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me indulgently lurking on [tumblr](http://peachpety.tumblr.com/).


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